Giants

CHAPTER TEN The Hills of Kel-Hemen

Joash clenched his teeth and concentrated upon proper breathing. Two long strides, breathe in, hold for two more strides, then let out for two more. His right side felt as if his muscles had been sewn together. Every turn, every twist pulled at the spear-throwing muscles and caused needle-sharp pain.

At times he almost pitched aside his spear. Carrying it hurt his rhythm, and it was heavier today than yesterday. He longed for a javelin, remembering how its slight bounce had seemed to add to his running rhythm rather than destroying it. Pride ran too deep, however, to ask either Herrek or Elidad to carry his spear in their chariots.

The others pulled ahead until Joash was fifty yards behind. They topped a small rise, leaving him all alone. It was then, from behind a clump of boulders, that Joash heard loud screeching. He whirled around to see a huge, ten-foot orn dashing at him. The flightless bird had a wicked-looking yellow beak, like a pickaxe. The orn ran on big, three-clawed toes with razor-sharp talons. Orns were like the ostriches of the South, but were bigger, were meat-eaters, and were known for their savage temperament.

Joash froze before he yelled and brought up his spear. The orn screeched and flapped its stubby, useless wings. Its eyes blazed with predatory zeal. When it was only twenty feet away and closing an arrow whizzed over Joash’s head and sank into the orn’s breast. The orn staggered, righted itself, and renewed the charge. Another arrow hissed. The orn screeched with rage, baffled at these slivers of flying wood.

Joash took that split-second to regain his courage and hurled his spear at the staggering orn. If he missed, he was dead. He didn’t miss. Incredibly, however, the orn didn’t go down, but still staggered for him as if drunk. A final arrow hissed into the orn’s head. The orn sank to the ground, its huge legs spasmodically kicking.

Joash knew that if there had been just one more orn, that he’d be dead. He also knew he didn’t mind carrying the heavy spear.

Adah walked up to him with a strange smile on her face.

“That was wonderful shooting,” he said. “Thanks.”

She laid a warm hand on his cheek.

Impulsively, Joash kissed her.

She blinked. “What was that for?”

He shrugged sheepishly, but felt supreme.

“Koton kept barking at me,” she said. “The only way to get him to stop was to come back and help you. Now, hurry up and get your spear. We have no more time to waste.”

For a while he kept thinking about her hand on his cheek, and how he’d kissed her. He thought, too, of the orn, and that Adah had come back to help him. Maybe Adah wasn’t under the emeralds’ spell as much as the others were.

The pace never slackened, and Joash worked hard to keep up. The heat truly began when they came to a pool of black water. A basin of stone held the murky water, while bleached skeletons of bison, horses, and prairie dogs dotted the rocky ledge.

“It’s poisoned,” Adah said. “Don’t let the horses drink from it.”

They drove from the well and later parked in the shade of stunted bushes. Small red birds nested in the thorny branches and sang warbling songs. Joash unhitched and watered the stallions, using the chariot’s water-skin to fill the leather bucket.

The hills were close, and from here Joash saw sharp ledges, pointed boulders, and deep, dark crevices. Yellow lichen clung to the rock and shale abounded. The hills looked rotten, as if they were brittle and ready to break. Grass, trees, and bushes were noticeable in their absence. No animals roamed there, although vultures soared on the heated updrafts. The nearby pass looked bleak, and Joash spied brown, diseased grass. The sun blazed with malignant might. It was like an evil eye, watching them, gauging their levels of endurance, mocking them all the while.

“We must find water to refill the water-skins,” Adah told Herrek.

From underneath his helmet, Herrek frowned.

“There will be no good water in the hills,” she said.

“Perhaps you’re wrong,” Herrek said.

Adah shook her head.

“Look at the river,” Herrek said, pointing far off to the right.

“That portion is no longer cursed,” she said. “The rains have cleansed it.”

Herrek shrugged. “We will drive to the cave, defeat the enemy, and drive back. The water we have will have to last.”

Adah shook her head, muttering.

“We cannot delay,” Herrek said. “Speed is of the essence.”

“What do you know?” Elidad asked Adah.

Her hand went to the red sash where she kept the parchment. She opened her mouth.

“We must leave,” Herrek said.

Elidad rubbed his bristly chin. “We must know the number and type of our foes.”

“It matters not.” Herrek lifted his spear. “This will be enough.”

Elidad didn’t look convinced. “Tell us what you know,” he told Adah.

“Much is hidden,” she warned.

“Yes, but you’ve studied the parchment,” Elidad said. “Perhaps you’ve deciphered some of the strange marks.”

She nodded slowly, her features showing her uncertainty.

“You know many of the old legends,” Joash added.

Elidad glanced at him, smiled, and nodded in approval.

“I…” Adah touched the sash again, and then she lowered herself until she sat on her boot heels. Her eyes shone, and she began to speak quickly. It was as if a dam had holed up her words, but now that dam was broken, and everything came gushing out.

“It is bene elohim script, as you guessed, difficult to decipher. The script speaks of names infamous during the Accursed War. Names that defined magic, power, and brutal conquest. There is Draugr Trolock-Maker, Magog, and the wicked Morbain Kang. First Born were also named. There is Jotnar Father of Giants, Gog the Oracle, and the Nameless One who led the evil Niflmen of the Far North. Allied with these terrible ones was a host of the sons of Cain. They planned to sweep all before them.” Adah paused before adding softly, “A battle was fought here and awful magic released.”

“The parchment said all that?” Elidad asked suspiciously.

Adah slowly shook her head. “The rest is old knowledge, forgotten lore of a lost battle that helped save the world from darkness. Lod, my teacher, told me a portion of the tale. After reading the parchment, I remembered his words.”

She looked at them, her dark, hypnotic eyes wide and her brown skin drawn over her cheekbones. “The powers of the North gathered for a surprise attack. They hoped to shatter the legions of Arioch the Archangel and lay waste to all the holdings along the Suttung Sea. Then, with those lands secure, they would join forces with Azel and his southern captains, and they would join with Moloch, Baal, and Surtur. With the combined hosts and with the covering legions of Arioch but a memory, they would crush the armies of Caphtor, Ir, and Iddo. But, such was not to be. Arioch the Archangel marshaled his legions earlier than was his wont, and he gathered many allies. Sturdy spearmen from Nearer and Further Tarsh joined with Huri archers. Many Shining Ones and their guards also joined Arioch. They sailed across the Suttung Sea in an armada of open boats and landed close to where we now stand.”

Adah smiled grimly. “Such is the old story. Now, combined with my parchment, I know where we are. That is why I have grown fearful. My back is bowed, my burden more than I can carry.”

Herrek stirred impatiently.

Gens carved on his birch-bark.

Elidad stared at her, his emotions unreadable.

“Draugr Trolock-Maker was counted among the mightiest of the bene elohim,” she continued. “He, along with Necromon, studied the terrible magic of spirits. Wicked were Draugr’s ways, crafty his hideous art. Luckily, his host this time was less in number than that of Arioch’s, and it was too late for Draugr to flee. But his skills didn’t desert him, nor did his soldiers. By his evil arts he caused these very hills to rise from the ground. Here he awaited Arioch, and here he made his fell plans. In dark caves Draugr forged a horrid army of trolocks, using spirits to animate the humanoid piles of living rock.

“Only when he was ready, and after a month of siege, did Draugr dare march from his hill-made fortress and meet Arioch on the plains below. The clash of armies was terrible, the battle bloody. Many champions died, countless warriors perished. In the end, Arioch the Archangel drove the evil horde from the field and back into the artfully risen hills. The slaughter there was horrible, but evil also befell the victorious. For the hills were rigged with traps by the crafty bene elohim. Even so, Arioch was merciless and hunted his ancient foes. Draugr Trolock-Maker fled to a cave, ‘tis said, and there Arioch found him and sealed him within. Many trolocks were sealed with Draugr, so they could torment their dread creator until he released his spirit for judgment. Jotnar escaped the hills, as did the Nameless One and a thousand of his Niflmen. They fled north.

“The hills were thereafter called Kel-Hemen, meaning, the Hills of Death. The Nephilim, I’m told, have named these the Gjoll Hills, which means, the ‘Blood of the High.’”

“In these hills death broods with secret malice. The cave we search for will be filled with ancient artifacts. Of that, I have no doubt. I fear that First Born and Nephilim will attempt to awaken the old powers. I fear that the worst terrors of the Accursed War will shortly be upon us.”

Adah swayed. “What champions will save us now? Who will stand against the First Born? Who will replace the Shining Ones of yore?”

“Is there more?” Elidad asked.

“There is no time for more,” Herrek said. “We must hurry.”

The others, whatever their thoughts, did as he bid. Elidad and slump-shouldered Adah stepped into their chariot, and Gens and Herrek into theirs. The stallions plodded onward, their heads drooping. Koton panted and walked beside Joash.

What more did Adah know? Joash wondered. What was the curse she’d hinted at?

In the sweltering heat they approached the pass of Kel-Hemen. Had that once been the main gateway to the enemy fortress?

The animal noises grew less. So too did any insect buzzing or bird singing. Then only a low moan of wind filled Joash’s ears, that and the creak of chariot wheels and the thud of hooves on grass. The grasses thinned out and disappeared, and the wheels clattered over shale. Sweat dripped from Joash’s chin as he stumbled and slipped on the treacherous footing. The shale was black and glossy, and no piece looked bigger than Joash’s hand.

Suddenly the stallions halted, and so did Koton. No matter how much Gens coaxed or Elidad cracked the whip, the horses refused to move.

“Stop!” Joash shouted.

With sweat dripping off his face, and the whip-handle quivering, Elidad glared at Joash.

“Don’t beat the horses anymore.”

Elidad jumped off the chariot and advanced upon Joash. “Do you dare order me?”

Joash licked his lips, unsure what to say.

A loud crack flicked leather particles onto Joash’s cheeks.

“I asked you a question,” Elidad said softly.

“No, Warrior,” Joash said.

“Do not play word-games,” Elidad said. “You shouted at me to stop.”

“We all heard it,” Herrek said sternly.

Couldn’t the warriors see the stallions were near panic?

The whip cracked again and lifted Joash’s hair. Joash ducked his head.

Elidad laughed. “Do you dare order me now?”

Joash shook his head.

“Are you afraid?” Elidad sneered.

Joash stared into those bloodshot eyes. He’d seen a boar’s eyes like that once, just before the boar had ripped a hound into bloody shreds. He knew Elidad’s reputation. Few cared to face him on the field of battle. Yet something else than fear filled Joash, anger that someone would beat a helpless horse. He was wise enough, however, and scared enough, that he kept the anger off his face.

“And you hope to become a warrior,” Elidad sneered.

“While you hope to gain treasure,” Joash said, as evenly as he could.

Elidad cracked the whip a third time.

Joash cried out, dropping his spear as he clutched his bloody cheek.

“Do not spar words with me, Groom. If you do, I’ll give you a thousand cuts, but still leave you your life.

Joash saw blood on his hand.

“Do you still dare to order me?” Elidad asked.

Joash shook his head.

“Good. Now strip off your shirt and lay over that rock. I will only give you twenty lashes.”

Joash stared at Elidad in horrified wonder.

“Obey me, Groom.”

Joash noted the harsh cast to Elidad’s face. The warrior wanted to see blood. Joash leveled his spear at Elidad. “You will not beat me like a slave. I am a free man.”

Elidad laughed, and raised the whip.

Joash hunched his shoulders and watched the whip.

It flashed. Joash ducked and thrust the spear toward the snaking leather. Incredibly, leather parted as it sliced across razor-sharp steel. The small part of the whip flew past Joash’s head and landed like a dead worm. The main part of the whip Elidad flicked behind him, as he made ready to lash again.

“Hold!” Herrek said.

Joash and Elidad glanced at Herrek.

“His spirit is bold,” Herrek said. “He will not be whipped like a slave. He is a free man and a warrior-to-be.”

Elidad considered Herrek’s words and nodded, curling the whip, thrusting it into his belt. He drew his longsword.

“We have no time for this,” Herrek said.

“I’ll not be ordered about by a groom,” Elidad said.

“I was not ordering you, Warrior,” Joash said, his spear still aimed at Elidad. “Rather, I was trying to tell you that evil fills the Hills of Kel-Hemen. Why, otherwise, do the stallions fear to go on? Why are there no animals here, not even insects or birds?”

Elidad frowned.

Adah made a sound of surprise.

“Yes,” Gens said slowly. “That’s true. I see no animals.”

“Evil?” Elidad asked.

“The Hills of Kel-Hemen are cursed,” Joash said, as he lifted the spear-point. He leaned upon the shaft as he’d seen warriors do. “Adah told us about the curse, about the abomination committed here. Draugr Trolock-Maker raised these hills. Perhaps no animal is able to enter here.”

Adah made a soft hiss. The others glanced at her. She took out the parchment and studied it intently.

“Are you saying we must walk?” Herrek asked.

Joash nodded.

“No,” Gens said. “We must use the chariots to defeat the Nephilim.”

Elidad laughed harshly. “Then you must hitch the Groom,” he said, sheathing his sword.

“Go afoot?” Herrek asked. He studied the horses. “So be it.” He stepped down, motioned Joash, and slung the chariot water-skin around Joash’s shoulder. Joash’s knees almost buckled at the weight.

Elidad grunted and lifted his shield. He tucked a wallet of dried herring to his belt and two empty sacks.

Gens stood in indecision.

“Will you stay with the chariots?” Herrek asked his driver.

Tears welled in Gens’s eyes.

“Here,” Joash said, feeling pity for Gens. “Let’s find a safe place for the horses, and put their reins under heavy rocks.”

“Yes,” Herrek said, “wise counsel.”

“No predators will harm them here,” Adah said.

Joash wandered if that was true. He unhitched the stallions, parked the chariots, and made sure the rocks pinning the reins were unsteady. They weren’t coming back. This way the stallions had a chance of getting loose and returning to camp.

“Hurry,” Herrek cried from around the bend.

“Guard the horses,” Joash told Koton.

The black dog whined. Still, he rested in the closest chariot and put his head on his paws. Joash wondered how many days would have to pass before Koton left.

“Groom,” Herrek shouted.

With an oath, Joash lifted the sloshing water-skin and staggered toward the others. When they saw him, they began to trek into the Pass of Kel-Hemen.

The heat baked until sweat soaked their clothes and their plastered hair stuck to their scalps. Joash was the worst off. The water-skin-strap dug into his shoulder, and his spear had become an unbearable burden. Twice, he almost heaved it aside. Later, he almost sat and cried out for them to halt. A fierce glance from Herrek stilled the idea. Joash plodded on, the oily grass brushing the tops of his feet, making them feel grimy.

Finally, they paused. Adah glanced at her map. “Not yet,” she said. They plodded onward.

Joash’s lips were cracked, and sweat stung his eyes. His leg muscles quivered and all thoughts of food made him queasy.

The wind moaned and strange odors swirled. It was the stink of corruption, of rusted metals and burnt rocks, of fungus fumed to ward off flies. The shale was sharp, and white spots dotted the brown grass. Even worse than the terrain were the emeralds’ growing effects upon the others. Joash saw their staring, eager eyes, the way their mouths were agape, and how they walked with a light tread. Their skin glistened and turned an odd shade of yellow. No one spoke, although Gens crooned to himself and once he even looked back. His love for the horses was strong, but it wasn’t strong enough to break the evil magic.

Adah stopped and peered at the pass’s rock walls. The pass had narrowed and they stood in shadow. Elidad wiped his face, and he drank from the small water-skin slung at his side. No one had yet refilled the skins from Joash’s crippling burden.

Joash sat down and eased the strap from his shoulder. He began to shake. Suddenly, he bent over and threw up a bitter-tasting gruel. His skin blazed with fever. When it passed he momentarily felt better. It came to him that the others were beyond helping him. If he were to survive in order to help them, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. He took out a piece of leather and soaked it. Then he took out his knife and cut the leather into a long sling.

“Onward!” Herrek shouted.

Joash didn’t rise. He worked on his leather.

“Groom,” Herrek said.

Joash looked up wearily.

“March.”

“Yes, Warrior. Now could someone please help lift me up?”

Herrek stared at him. Adah, Gens, and Elidad had already begun to climb the treacherous boulder to their right. They planned to assail the steep side. It seemed like a ludicrous idea.

“I need help.”

“March,” Herrek said.

“Yes, Warrior. Now, could you order the others here so I can top off their water-skins? Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll collapse and be of no use to you.”

Herrek glared at him.

Elidad turned, frowned and walked back. “We must not weary him. Otherwise, who will carry the treasure?”

Gens joined Joash, then Adah, and finally Herrek. Each topped off their water-skins, which gave Joash time to complete his sling. He knotted the wet leather to the spear-shaft. Then he took out catgut thread from his kit and sewed the knots tight.

When Joash rose the water-skin was lighter by a third. Once the sling dried he’d slip the spear over his back. He used the hope of that time to spur himself. The others bounded up one rock to the next, like mountain goats.

They re-entered the sunlight, the rocks burning Joash’s hands. He slowly dropped behind. Despite Herrek and Elidad’s heavy mail, huge shields, spears, and longswords, they climbed from one ledge to the next with the ease. Even small Adah climbed faster than Joash did. She ran on the slenderest of rocky spires and made an incredible leap, then scrabbled up by her fingers and rushed after the others.

As he followed her trail Joash saw blood-smears on one sharp rock. Later, a patch of skin was stuck to an extremely hot black rock. He wheezed. The stale, burning air hurt his lungs. Slowly, he pulled himself to a lichen-strewn ledge, then reached down and pulled up his spear. When he looked, he saw Adah disappear around the narrow rock-trail that turned over fifty yards away.

Joash knew then that as long as he carried the chariot water-skin he’d never be able to keep up. He hung his head in exhaustion. The decision was a difficult one, although the logic was flawless. Yes, he knew good water in this blazing heat was life. And what if they perished because he’d been unable to do his job? But the truth was he needed to be with them at the critical moment, because only he wasn’t bewitched.

He cached the water-skin behind a rock and then studied his hill. A clump of boulders near the top looked like three old men hunched together in prayer. Green lichen, like a cloak, covered the middle rock. He memorized what they looked like.

Decision made, Joash slung the spear across his back and hurried after the others. He was careful to stay close to the cliff-edge. Unlike them, he still feared falling to the ground below. They leaped and bounded up, as if falling was a thing for mortals, not for them. Even so, without the chariot water-skin and with the spear now slung on his back, Joash was able to catch up to Adah. Maybe his days with Balak had been good for something after all. She scaled what looked like a sheer rock-face. He saw that it was angled slightly backward, and to his amazement, he saw handholds chiseled into the rock.

Awe filled him. Had Shining Ones chiseled the handholds long ago? Or maybe some warriors, who had been led by Shining Ones, had chiseled them. Yes, they’d chiseled the handholds as they hunted the defeated followers of Draugr Trolock-Maker. Maybe Niflmen, who had followed the Nameless One, had been chased up this very hill. Adah had said only a thousand Niflmen escaped to their northern strongholds.

Joash watched Adah scurry up the cliff as if she was a squirrel. She didn’t pause to wonder upon the strangeness of an ancient battleground. Divine beings had warred here, the same divine beings that warred in the Celestial Realm when Morningstar and Azel had led their rebellion against Elohim.

Joash shook his head. The horrid enchantment of this place was too strong. A thousand Niflmen had long ago fled these hills. How many thousands more had been slain? How many had died where he now stood? Joash hoisted himself up after Adah. Arioch the Archangel had sealed the bene elohim Draugr in a cave hidden somewhere near here.

Joash paused. Was it possible Draugr Trolock-Maker still lived? No, that was impossible. Joash had learned as a child that the Shining Ones had defeated the bene elohim. Their spirits had been taken off Earth and sealed in prisons. Some called that prison the Gulf of Tartarus, and others called it the Lake of Fire. Surely, if Arioch had sealed Draugr here, the Archangel would have made certain that in the end, the bene elohim had perished. Arioch would also have insured that the evil spirit had been borne away with the others.

Joash scrabbled onto a new and hotter ledge. Adah hurried along a narrow trail that seemed to curl around the rocky hill. Joash followed, although like the animals, he hated these hills. He also pondered all he’d heard. Hadn’t the Singer said trolocks had been sealed with Draugr? Trolocks were piles of rocks, according to Adah, animated by the spirits of the damned. Joash shivered with horror. Trolocks sounded loathsome. Yes, perhaps a treasure really was in this cave, but horrors and old terrors would be there as well.

Joash turned the corner, climbed another ledge, and saw a mini-plateau stretch before him. At the end of the plateau, were Herrek, Elidad, and Gens. Adah hurried to catch up to them.

What had it been like when the Shining Ones had tracked down the bene elohim? How many times had steel rung against steel, how many times had warriors screamed as they fell to their deaths, or shouted in triumph because at last their hated foes had fallen? It seemed, faintly, that Joash could hear the old cries, hear the clangor of battle, and the last desperate shouts of trapped champions. He nodded. The evil enemy would have set ambushes. Boulders would have been rolled upon the unwary. He looked around. The hills were more like a complex of traps, ledges, and high points, rather than natural stone. There would have been bitter melees. Joash was glad the Shining Ones had completed their task. Remembering Mimir’s size and strength, he was appalled at what the giant’s grandfather, a bene elohim, must have been like.

What was in Draugr’s Cave? An ancient treasure, obviously. But why were they being lured toward it?

Then it came to Joash. If a cave had been sealed up for ages, and if Draugr Trolock-Maker had perished in the cave, trapped as he was with trolocks that were animated piles of rocks…maybe Mimir and Tarag feared what was in the cave. Maybe they needed someone else to see if any of the old dangers still lurked in this place of horror. For hadn’t the trolocks been fashioned in the dark caves? And hadn’t Adah once told him that old people, those who had lived for hundreds of years, were very careful with their lives? If patriarchs like Lord Uriah, seldom left the safety of their holdings, what were even longer-lived beings like Tarag like? According to Adah, Tarag had been born before the ancient war had even begun. Wouldn’t Tarag be even more cautious than Lord Uriah was?

“Stop!” Joash shouted, cupping his hands and yelling. His voice was weak, and the others paid him no heed. They strode onward, oblivious to their fate. “No!” Joash shouted. He forced himself to run to Adah. The small Singer strode fast, her eyes straining, her mouth worked into an eerie smile. Her skin had a green cast, and veins that he’d never seen before had surfaced near her skin.

“Adah!”

She didn’t look at him.

Joash grabbed her arm and forced her to stop.

She hissed and slapped him across the face. He released her. She rushed forward.

Joash shook his head, and then dashed after her. “Adah! Wait! You must tell me more about Draugr.”

She didn’t listen.

Joash stopped from sheer exhaustion, sat down, and uncorked his own small water-skin. He sucked the hot liquid as sweat soaked his clothes. He watched Elidad climb a rock and jump out of view. It was impossible to keep up with them.

Would they truly dare fight Tarag?

Of course they would dare. As he was now, Herrek would face anyone.

Joash snapped his fingers. They had bewitched the others so they’d discover if trolocks still lived. From Adah’s description, trolocks seemed like creatures even Nephilim or First Born might fear. Then what could a human hope to do against them?

Joash groaned. Should he try to drive a chariot back to Hori Cove and alert Lord Uriah about the horrors Nephilim attempted to release? The others were doomed.

Joash shook his head. He didn’t truly know what awaited them in the cave. But he wasn’t bewitched. Therefore, he must save them. A shrewd warrior would try to ambush the ambushers. Joash chewed his lip as he readied his spear. This was beyond his skill, but perhaps if he cast the spear at just the right moment…

Joash rose and followed the others. And he strained to catch a sound or a sight of the enemy. One thing seemed certain. If animals couldn’t come to these hills, then Tarag would be without his sabertooths.

A sound alerted him. Joash increased his pace.

“Here,” Herrek shouted from ahead. “Here is the cave.”